by Julia Donner
“I’ve tried to discreetly explain to him that you are one of those rare women who actually enjoy pregnancy, but after losing Beryl in childbirth, it’s most likely a waste of breath and time to attempt to reassure him.”
“Try all you like, but Hugh is not a man easily moved to anyone else’s opinion. Except mine. Tell me more about your visit to Rolands. Sir Harry is a marvelous scamp but I have heard that his wife is something of a stickler.”
“Not that. I would say that she is…unique.”
“Beautiful?”
Allison paused to find the correct word. “Handsome with expressive eyes and…I think, rather devout in a private way. But then, I’ve noticed that Sir Harry is also.”
Emily placed a hand on her rounded belly. “Yes, he hid that well from the world. He didn’t know that I knew the truth.”
“Now you must be the one to tell all.”
Sporting a naughty grin, Emily explained, “He was known for keeping up to three mistresses at a time. When club members teased him about the excess, Sir Harry complained of ennui. Variety kept his spirits up, he said, the wretch.”
“Not true?”
Emily smirked. “For some reason, ladies of easy virtue, and I won’t tell you how I came to be in their company, all knew the true Sir Harry. He paid for the living of numerous women and their children until they could find husbands or another means of support. Most of his so-called mistresses had never seen his face. Or other parts of his anatomy. I shouldn’t mind seeing that. There was a statue of him sans clothes but it disappeared.”
“How extraordinary. I venture to say that Lady Collyns must know the truth of it. We have spent a great deal of time in discussion of her medical library. From what I have seen, my impression is that she is not the sort of wife who would look the other way.”
Emily laughed then winced. Placing a hand on her side, she added, “Lady Asterly wrote that her sister-in-law has a temper that will keep Harry in line. How is Lizzie? She had such a difficult time with the twins.”
“This time will be easier. I promised Lord Asterly that I would make every effort to bring her through with less discomfort.”
A knowing grin and sloe-eyed wink preceded Emily’s whisper. “The Comfort Stone. Did you tell him about it?”
“No. I told Lady Asterly. Such secrets are the purview of women. We do the work and suffer the dangers of bringing children into the world. For all of our efforts, we deserve our secrets.”
“Oh, how delicious. I do adore secrets. Do you have it with you now?”
“No. I keep it in a special pouch, but Emily, I doubt you will need it. Your delivery will be swift and easy. You are one of the few, excessively fortunate females who have an uneventful birthing.”
Emily tipped her head to one side. “Allison, what makes you so certain?”
“I’m not quite sure why. I sense it upon first examination.”
“Ah. On the order of a first impression?” Emily asked. When Allison nodded. Emily continued, “Isn’t it odd that there are three of us, all friends and due to give birth within months of each other?”
“I’ve observed a strange coincidence regarding that. In my experience, deaths and births come three at a time.”
“Oh, you are too pragmatic for me and that’s an observation too eerie to think about. Tell me all about the deliciously mysterious gentleman, Harry’s childhood friend come back from the sea.”
Allison looked down at her lap to hide an aching longing. She couldn’t stop the helpless yearning, the constant emptiness from wondering where he was and what he was doing. Without her. Or with someone else.
When she didn’t respond, Emily prompted, “You must tell me. Show some kindness for a tragically bored friend. Come along, now. Speak up. You said that Harry calls him The Barbarian! Did he make your heart race?”
“Now you’re being silly, Emily, and overly dramatic. Mr. Bradford is not a barbarian in any sense. He may have looked like a vagabond when he arrived, but Sir Harry’s valet took care of the superficial.”
Emily responded to that with a pout. “I had such hopes. I had thought that you might fall in love with a dashing seaman and he might fling you over his shoulder and hie you away to his pirate ship.”
“What drivel. The man is completely harmless and quite pleasant of temperament.”
Emily’s shoulders slumped. “Fudge. I am excessively disappointed in you. And him.”
“He is a friend, Emily, the sort one likes to have at one’s back should an unpleasantness arise, but a decent sort of gentleman. He’s had a bit of bad luck, and you must quell your imagination. There is no possibility of anything more than friendship between us.”
“What a liar you are, Allison! He’s already sent you two letters! There must be something more.”
“No, I assure you, there is no possibility of that. I have no dowry. He has no livelihood.”
“But he could always go back to sea. Or what if he’s the famous missing heir of Loverton! Don’t you find it at all romantic?”
The memory of Mr. Bradford swamped her vision with her nightly dreams of a life with him, his making love to her, what it would be like to have his child. She gave her head a tiny shake to rid her mind of it and firmly replied, “No, Emily, he is not the heir. He told me that the family connection is maternal. Not a direct heir. In addition to that, he has doubts that he will be able to retrieve his prize monies. We are both destitute.”
“But if he had a fortune or a livelihood, what then, Allison?”
“Still nothing. Neither of us own a fanciful bone between us. We are happily committed to friendship.” She delivered that rebuttal with a brittle feeling smile. Even little lies hurt.
The door opened again, and Sir Hugh came through. “Of which friend do you speak, Mrs. Davidson?”
“Mr. Cameron Bradford, recently returned to England.”
He placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder and stood at attention behind her chair. “The name sounds familiar. I believe we might have attended the same school.”
Emily tugged her husband down to kiss his cheek. He made a token resistance to public affection but accepted it with a slight flush. Sir Hugh wasn’t a man for ostentation or display in any way other than his manner of dress, which was as fastidious and particular as Sir Harry’s. Being of the opposite bent, Emily grinned up at her husband, delighted to have discommoded him. A pang thrummed in Allison’s chest. Loneliness came and settled in beside an old ache.
She averted her gaze from the silent, visual conversation Emily and Sir Hugh shared. How she envied that—the way lovers exchanged an entire discussion in a glance. This sort of spousal affection was not for her. She would never again know the comfort of a man’s protective embrace, the wonder of clinging to someone of one’s own. But at least she’d known it briefly. Not long enough to develop the understanding this couple shared, but a memory to treasure in the chill of the aloneness of night.
Sir Hugh asked, “How soon, Allison?”
Allison blinked to refocus. “Any day, Sir Hugh.”
“And you are of the opinion that she will come through with colors flying?”
Curious, but not affronted by a male speaking of a subject never discussed in public, she’d prepared an answer. Fortunately, Sir Harry’s bluntness in the matter had helped her to prepare for this moment. As a rule, she preferred to avoid this sort of conversation whenever possible, but she felt an extraordinary sensitivity to Sir Hugh’s experience of watching his first wife die. Beryl had been her friend, and he’d become hers through sharing the grief of their loss.
With a gaze as uncompromising as her tone, she said, “Yes, sir, she will. I promise.”
His wife tilted back her head and waggled her eyebrows at him. “We all know why he’s in a fine sweat to have me delivered.”
Scandalized, Sir Hugh scolded, “Emily!”
Emily chortled a wicked laugh that immediately put out the fire of reproach in his glare. “Stop it, old stick. I know
you are frightfully worried about me. But I do miss that part, I think more than you do.”
Sir Hugh looked heavenward and muttered under his breath, delighting his wife even more. “Look at him, Allison! I vow that one day he’ll not be so squeamish about the diverting aspects of married life.”
Through clenched teeth, he said, “At your age and in your condition, I shouldn’t feel forced to instruct you on proper discourse among opposite sexes.”
Emily yanked him down to whisper in his ear. This time, Sir Hugh glanced in Allison’s direction with a flush staining his cheeks. He jerked a bow in Allison’s direction and stalked from the room.
Dreamy-eyed, Emily smiled at his retreat. “I can get away with just about everything when I’m in this condition. He won’t be as compliant after the baby is born. One must have one’s fun while it is to be had.”
“Emily, shame. You embarrassed the poor man.”
She chortled her familiar laugh. “You should have heard what I whispered in his ear!” She ended with a gasp and a quick hand to her side.
Allison swiftly crossed to her chair. “Where does it hurt?”
Emily blinked rapidly then exhaled. “There. It’s gone.”
After placing her palm on Emily’s tight abdomen and shifting over the roundness, Allison straightened up. “You will have another before long. Time to go upstairs. Your daughter is about to make a fuss. Shall I call Sir Hugh to carry you?”
“Stuff and nonsense. I can walk up a flight of steps. Let’s go. I can’t wait to see my daughter!”
Allison had to laugh. “I’ve never heard a woman eager to undergo childbirth pains before this. You are an astonishment.”
“Wait until you see my girl!”
Chapter 13
Emily, true to her vow, not only came through with colors flying, she went on a laughing spree afterward, terrifying her husband. Sir Hugh had hovered outside in the corridor the entire time. He sprang though the bedchamber door and stood, pale as parchment, on the threshold.
Emily sat up in bed, perspiration’s damp curls sticking to her brow, and wearing a huge smile. “I did it, Hugh! Come see her.”
Allison was in the process of placing the freshly washed infant in her mother’s arms. Visibly shaken, Sir Hugh made his way to the bedside and looked down on his sleeping daughter, pink of cheeks and with a shock of black hair.
Her face a blaze of delight, Emily looked up at her disbelieving husband. “Isn’t she gorgeous? So perfect and beautiful. Tiny toes, Hugh, and she never cried. Brought herself into the world without a fuss and went promptly to sleep.”
“Em, you are…well?”
“Perfectly. A bit tired and achy, but that is nothing. I’m sorry if I startled you by laughing so crazily, but I had expected it to be far worse than it was.”
He leaned over the bed, saying in a gruff whisper, “You are both no doubt exhausted. And yes, she is astonishingly beautiful. The boys were quite ugly for months. You’ve done very well, my lady. Thank you for a daughter.”
“Come down here so I can give you a proper kiss, old stick. Now off you go. My daughter and I require a nap.”
He hesitated to touch his daughter’s cheek. “Soft as a petal. T’was the same with the boys.”
He strode out of the room. Emily gazed fondly at the closing door. “Did you see how pleased he is? He so dearly wanted a girl. He never believed me, you know, but I knew from the beginning.”
“You need to rest, Emily.”
And she did, until the next day. Allison stayed with her, cuddling the baby while the mother slept—the part that pleased her the most about midwifery—the holding of the infant at every opportunity.
Like so many who endured the weeks prior to delivery, Emily had been unable to sleep through a night, and made up for the loss now. She woke bright and cheerful and would have made other newly delivered mothers swoon from incredulous alarm when she hopped out of bed for a bath. She ordered Allison to stand by with the baby while her maid wrapped her damp hair in curl-papers and hid them under a fetching cap of lace and lavender ribbons.
After sending the maid away, Emily stretched out her arms and wriggled her fingers. “Hand her to me. I’m baby starved. Ah, here’s my little Sophia.”
“So you’ve named her.”
“After Hugh’s mother. Extraordinary woman.” She asked between cooing noises, “Did you see the painting of her?”
“The one on the main staircase? It’s fascinating. What is the costume she’s wearing?”
“I couldn’t tell you. A robe of some sort. Egyptian perhaps. She prefers exotic styles and would probably have a blue fit if someone suggested a high-waisted muslin. Oh, look. Sophia is yawning. Do you think she is hungry?”
“I’ve been giving her drops of water while you slept. The wet nurse had no luck with gaining her interest.”
“What if I try?”
Allison paused before asking, “Emily, you wish to nurse your infant? What would Sir Hugh say?”
“I doubt he has an understanding of any of it. I’ve long held the opinion that men like to imagine children coming into the world fully formed and speaking. They certainly pay no attention to them until they are able to carry on a conversation. Please, do show me how it is done.”
Sophia showed an immediate preference for her mother, which Emily decreed was clear indication of her daughter’s brilliance. There was little else to do but converse while Sophia had her first meal.
Smiling down at her daughter, Emily said, “Where did we leave off the other day before Sophia interrupted us?”
“I can’t say that I remember. The indications that Sophia was ready to be born captured all of my attention.”
“You are an inept prevaricator, Allison. You know we were discussing your delicious barbarian. I think the fact that he writes to you and that you accept the intimacy of written correspondence is an indicator of your true feelings.”
“He merely wished to convey that he will soon be happily reunited with his mother and sister in London. He’s rented a house for them until they can be resituated in Kent.”
“Then he cannot be as destitute as you claim.”
Resisting the urge to squirm in her chair, Allison replied, “His prize monies have been located.”
“And now he takes the next step and seeks your permission to introduce you to his family.”
The accuracy of Emily’s intuitiveness was even more unsettling than her previous argument that poverty was no longer an obstacle. Panic threatened every time the thought of meeting his family came to mind. She doubted she could endure revolted looks from his mother and sister after hearing reports of her past. Rumors and the sordid details of her social downfall would resurface after the unpleasantness at the bookstore. She never should have gone out in public, but she’d hoped that she and the scandal had been forgotten.
“Emily, please erase the notion that there is a future for us. Even if his prize monies and inheritance are regained, my past is a significant barrier. I have no idea why I’ve been selected by the fates to be an ongoing object of scandal, but there it is.”
“Pooh. You make too much of it.”
Allison added firmness to her reply. “You know I do not imagine it. Even here, Callander whispers about Sir Hugh and I. It is entirely due to Beryl’s kindness and patronage that I’ve been provided a living here, but no one will listen. The gossip started when she was alive.”
“Hugh told me how much he appreciated your help with the boys. You were both grieving.”
“The district didn’t see it that way, Emily. They saw me then and now as a paramour, living in proximity for Sir Hugh’s convenience.”
“And ever he hears such nonsense, Hugh will have their heads for it. If I were not holding an innocent angel I would say some very harsh words. I ask you to ignore those mean-spirited harpies. Their opinions should not cause you concern. People of sense know that Mrs. Wilkins chose and trained you, and before you say it was offered entirely out
of sympathy for the loss of your child, you know that is not so. We are privileged to have someone in the district proficient in midwifery. You’ve witness how poor Hugh has lived a nightmare until Sophia’s arrival. Furthermore, you couldn’t have saved Beryl. I doubt anyone could.”
“Still, I feel a great deal of guilt that I could not be at her side. If she hadn’t bled so dreadfully in the aftermath of the birthing, some physician or apothecary’s filthy hands would have brought on a fever. Cleanliness in all practices must be maintained.”
“Allison, you must accept reality, as I had to do after George passed. If not for your meeting Mrs. Wilkins and her caring of you after the baby passed, what would your life be like now? If you hadn’t become a midwife, what would you have done?”
Silence was the answer. After a time, Emily whispered, “You would have died in a workhouse. There are no other options and the streets would never have been a solution for you.”
“I would rather starve.”
“Oh, Allison, we never know what we will do when pushed to the edge of desperation, but I cannot imagine you ever resorting to that. I probably could. I almost did, but then Hugh decided to accept my proposal.”
Appalled, Allison choked off a laugh. “Oh, Emily, you didn’t!”
“Most certainly did. I had my daughter to think about. I couldn’t have her born in a workhouse. George’s debts took everything. My Sophia’s father is vile. There was no marrying the swine, even if he offered, which he didn’t. All I had left was Cousin Hugh. I feared he might still hold me in contempt for the dreadful way I treated him throughout our childhood. And I was dumbstruck when Hugh’s mother confessed that he had always loved me, even while married to the beautiful Beryl. Of course, we know Hugh. He would never admit such a thing. Oh, will you help me? I believe she’s fallen asleep.”
Allison placed a napkin on Emily’s shoulder and showed her how to rub the baby’s back. When Sophia released a loud, indelicate burp, they laughed. A tap on the door sent Allison to see who knocked.
Two boys stared up at her with solemn expressions. The eldest, Waldo nodded his head in a bow. “Ma’am, may we be allowed to visit our mother and meet our baby sister?”